


A Time For Us

by Pargoletta



Series: Caro-verse [2]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Shakespeare - Fandom
Genre: Child Abuse, Drama, Family, Gen, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pargoletta/pseuds/Pargoletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the violence that dominates Mercutio and Valentine's lives reaches a new and frightening peak, the boys take the law into their own hands to find refuge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Virtue Itself Turns Vice

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot side story, a brief peek at plot events alluded to but not seen in my long story _Caro_. Of course, I am completely incapable of estimating how long a story will actually turn out – _Caro_ , which ended up being twenty-eight chapters long, was originally intended to be no more than seven or eight chapters. So this "one-shot" is actually four chapters. Go figure.
> 
> If you're familiar with _Caro_ , this one is set during Chapter Eight of that story. It takes place over the course of almost twenty-four hours in a hot early May in Verona about four years before the events of _Romeo and Juliet_. Like _Caro_ , it deals with child abuse. If you're uncomfortable reading about that, I won't be offended if you go and read something else.
> 
> So. Welcome to _A Time For Us_. Enjoy the story!

**1\. Virtue Itself Turns Vice**

* * *

A bough from one of the sour cherry trees, heavy with tempting fruit, hung over the orchard wall, swaying gently in Verona's spring breeze. Valentine stood on the hot pavement of the courtyard and contemplated the cherry branch with all his might, trying to ignore the rumbling in his stomach. His head ached where it had hit the wall when his father had shoved him across the study earlier in the day, and he was growing dizzy. The cherries gleamed bright red in the sunlight, and Valentine thought longingly about how refreshingly sour they would taste in his dry mouth.

He knew that he was forbidden to touch the trees in the orchard, but he had not been allowed any food since supper the night before. He had not been able to eat much of that before his father had grown angry at his older brother Mercutio and driven both boys away from the table. Mercutio had escaped the house in the morning to go spend the day with his friends in the piazza, but Valentine had had lessons with his tutor. But the tutor had long since gone home, and Valentine was now a prisoner in the hot courtyard.

Although he knew it was naughty, and that he would be punished if he were caught, Valentine stretched his hand up towards the dangling cherries anyway. But at nine years old, he was not quite tall enough to reach the fruit. After a few tries, he gave up with a sigh. He wished that Mercutio would come home soon. Mercutio was fourteen and, though he was not quite as tall as his friends, was certainly tall enough to reach the cherries. Just looking at the glistening red shapes made Valentine's empty stomach pinch harder than ever. With an effort, he tore his gaze away from the cherries and made a courtly bow to no one in particular.

He managed seven more courtly bows before he grew too dizzy to do any more. His head ached, and sweat dribbled down the back of his neck. One corner of the courtyard looked as though it might provide some shade, so Valentine wobbled over to it and sank down in the dust. Eventually, he drifted off into a half-sleep filled with dreams of dancing cherries.

He was not certain how long he slept. After a while, he became aware that someone was gently shaking his arm and calling his name. With some effort, Valentine opened his eyes, and was overjoyed to see Mercutio crouching next to him.

"Valentine," Mercutio said softly, "awake, _ragazzo_. Why dost thou sleep in the courtyard, in the middle of the day?"

Valentine rubbed dust from his eyes and embraced Mercutio. "I grew dizzy and faint with the heat," he explained. "And I could not cease thinking of the cherries."

Mercutio patted Valentine's back, then pushed away enough so that he could see Valentine's face. He frowned a little and tilted Valentine's head this way and that. "What of the cherries?" he asked. Very gently, he ran a finger along the side of Valentine's face. "Does this pain thee?"

Valentine's wince was all the answer Mercutio needed. "Thou wilt have a colorful mark to show for this tomorrow," Mercutio said. "Did he do this to thee after I left the house this morning?"

Valentine nodded. "Ay. It was after my arithmetic lesson. Father had a visitor this morning, a lord from another city, I know not which. He called me into his study and bade me recite a poem for the entertainment of his guest. I chose the Petrarch that Signior Collini taught me for rhetoric two months past."

Mercutio smiled. "That was a wise choice. I have heard thee recite that poem, and thou dost speak it marvelously well."

Valentine blushed at the praise. "The foreign lord thought so as well, for he smiled at me when I finished speaking. But when he left, Father turned on me. He shoved me against the wall and said that I was an insolent pillicock who did not have the wisdom to bow properly before my elders when I pleased them. He said that I was not to have any dinner, and that I was to come out here to the courtyard and practice making a bow until I could do it correctly."

Mercutio's eyes narrowed, and the smile vanished from his face. "And hast thou been out here in the sun all day long with no food or drink?"

"Ay." Valentine struggled to his feet, clinging to Mercutio's arm until the resulting wave of dizziness had passed. "I have done as he bade me do," he offered. "I have practiced my bow. Wilt thou see?"

He pointed his toe and bowed to his brother, with all the flourishes. In spite of himself, Mercutio laughed.

"That is lovely," he said. "The dancing master at the palace could do no better."

A pleasant warmth thrilled in Valentine's heart, just as when the foreign lord had smiled at him for reciting Petrarch. "Mercutio," he said, "I have been a good boy, and I have practiced bowing. Wouldst thou pluck those sour cherries for me? My stomach cries out with hunger, but I cannot reach the fruit."

Mercutio sighed. "Thou knowest well what Father will do to both of us if he discovers that we have stolen fruit from his orchard."

"But it is only a few cherries. Surely they will not be missed."

"They would be missed from that bough." Mercutio went and stood beneath it. "See how it hangs alone over the courtyard. There is nothing to disguise such a theft."

Valentine swallowed hard, but did not break down into shameful tears. "I am so hungry," he said, mortified at the whining tone that crept into his voice even as he spoke.

Mercutio regarded him for a moment, his face an agony of indecision. Finally, he set his jaw and reached up to the cherry branch. As Valentine had hoped, Mercutio was tall enough to grasp the fruit. But, to his disappointment, Mercutio did not pluck the cherries.

"I am sorry, _ragazzo_ ," he said. "Thou knowest that I would risk a beating to give thee the cherries that would sate thy hunger. But they are not yet ripe. Though they are beautiful to the eye, they are cold and hard to the touch. Thou couldst not eat them, for they would make thee sick."

At that news, Valentine's heart sank. He stumbled over to Mercutio and flung his arms around his brother, choking back tears of disappointment. Mercutio held him tightly and petted his hair, but said nothing. Eventually, Valentine managed to swallow his unhappiness, and Mercutio released him.

The two boys spent the waning hours of the afternoon playing together in the courtyard. Valentine practiced his bow several more times until it was perfect, and Mercutio showed him the steps to some of the dances he had learned at the palace. The best part was when Mercutio taught Valentine how to dance the scandalous volta. Valentine took the lady's part, and when Mercutio picked him up and spun him around in the air, Valentine shrieked with laughter.

"Gentlemen!" The deep voice of Domenico, the retainer assigned to guard Mercutio when he went out, startled the boys. They stopped dancing, and Mercutio set Valentine back on his feet. Domenico stood in the doorway, eyeing their play with a suspicious squint. "I was told that young master Valentine was to rehearse his deportment," Domenico said.

"He has done so," Mercutio answered, "and I will vouch for my brother."

He nudged Valentine's foot with his own, and gave him a subtle nod. After a moment, Valentine realized what he was meant to do. He stood very straight, and made a courtly bow towards Domenico. Domenico was silent for a moment, then inclined his head.

"That will suffice, I think," he said. "Valentine may come inside. It is nearly the hour for supper. Your noble father bids you attire yourselves properly and attend his table."

"Both of us?" Mercutio asked. "Valentine may come to the table as well?"

"That is what I said, is it not?" Domenico replied. He turned on his heel and went back inside. Mercutio and Valentine followed eagerly. The anticipation of supper gave Valentine a burst of new strength, and he hurried to the chamber he shared with Mercutio so that he could ready himself for the meal as quickly as possible.

* * *

A short time later, Mercutio and Valentine knocked at the door to the antechamber, where their father waited to inspect them. They had both changed into fresh clothing and washed their hands and faces. Just as their father bade them enter, Valentine's stomach rumbled, and his face grew warm. Mercutio took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the antechamber.

Their father, Signior Giacomo Rinuccini, sat in his special chair by the fire, immaculately turned out in a robe of green silk brocade trimmed at the edges with beaver fur, dark hose, and a brilliant white shirt. His iron-gray beard was neatly brushed, and his mustache was waxed into small points, in the French style. He was one of the wealthiest men in all of Verona, and he looked every bit the part. A slow smile spread over his face when he saw his sons.

"Ah, the heir to the House of Rinuccini and his brother," Giacomo said. "Approach, my sons, that I may look upon your faces."

Slowly, Mercutio and Valentine crossed the room to stand by their father. Giacomo kissed Mercutio on both cheeks, just as if Mercutio were a grown man and an honored guest, then took his hands to examine them. Valentine's eye was drawn to the marks on Mercutio's wrists. The sores had been raw in the morning, but now showed signs of healing. Giacomo did not seem to notice the marks, but turned Mercutio's hands over to determine if they were clean. Satisfied, he nodded, and turned his attention to Valentine.

"So," he said, in the same soft, pleasant voice that he had used earlier, "the young villain thinks himself fit to attend the table of a gentleman."

"Domenico did summon us both, Father," Mercutio said.

Giacomo did not take his eyes off of Valentine. "Ay, so he did. But mine is the final word in this house, and it is I who will determine if thy brother is fit to appear at my table." He stared expectantly at Valentine.

Valentine took a deep breath to steady himself, glanced once at Mercutio for support, then bowed deeply to his father, just as he had practiced during the long, hot afternoon in the courtyard. When he rose, he saw Mercutio smiling at him. Giacomo's face showed no expression. After a long moment, he inclined his head once.

"Acceptable," he said. Valentine let out a small sigh of relief. Giacomo strode towards the door to the dining hall, and Mercutio and Valentine followed at a respectful distance.

Giacomo's foreign guest appeared to have vanished, for supper was to be a simple family affair. Valentine's mouth watered when he saw the sideboard, laden with dishes of meatballs in red wine sauce, stuffed eggs, a mushroom tart, and a fresh risotto, fragrant with thyme and cheese, with asparagus tips and celery nestled in the rice. Even Mercutio, who did not like to eat, smiled as he took his place at the table. But Valentine could not tear his eyes away from that risotto, and his stomach pinched harder than ever as he thought about how good the creamy rice and crisp asparagus would taste.

Giacomo sat down, and signaled to the servants. One brought out a carafe of wine, and another began to serve the food. A third left the dining hall, presumably to fetch a forgotten item or a finishing touch from the kitchen. As usual, the servants filled Giacomo's dish and goblet first, bowed, and then moved to Mercutio, the older son. Mercutio looked at his food without much enthusiasm, but without disgust, either. Valentine turned toward the servants, and was horrified to see them step away from the table, leaving his own dish empty.

Mercutio frowned. "Father," he ventured, "you did say that Valentine could come to the table."

Giacomo nodded. "I did."

"Did you mean to have him attend but not eat?"

Giacomo's pleasant expression did not change. "Thy brother will be fed." He looked expectantly at the door. Valentine shrank down in his place and wished that he were invisible.

All of a sudden, the door to the dining hall opened, and a foul, rotting stench flooded the space. Mercutio choked, and Valentine turned horrified eyes to the door. The third servant had returned, bearing the pig bucket from the kitchen. Giacomo's smile broadened. "Thou didst disgrace thy father today, Valentine," he said. "Thou knowst well that I will not abide disobedience in my house. If thou canst not behave as becomes a nobleman, thou dost deserve nothing more than what the pigs eat."

He nodded to the servant, who dipped spoonfuls of limp, rotting greens, cabbage stalks, pan scrapings, and fatty gristle mixed with beer and sour wine into a bowl and set it before Valentine. The servant bowed, just as if he had set meatballs and risotto on the table, and withdrew from the dining hall, carrying the pig bucket with him. Valentine stared at the horrible, foul-smelling, slimy mess, too stunned to speak.

Giacomo nodded to the boys, picked up his spoon, and began to eat his risotto. Mercutio picked up his slice of mushroom tart, then glanced at Valentine's bowl and set the tart down again. He made a face at the smell of the pigswill, and then turned angry eyes on Giacomo.

"What do you mean to do to Valentine, Father?" Mercutio asked. "He has done all that you asked. He remained in the courtyard under the punishment of the sun for hours, and he has made you a bow that any dancing master would be proud to own. Why do you reward him with pigswill when he has done your bidding so faithfully?"

Giacomo snorted. "It is because of that goatish, puling fool of a child that I have lost a business chance today," he said, in a voice as cold as iron. "A renowned merchant traveled to Verona all the way from Venice itself in the hopes of finding a partnership in this city. I had arranged everything perfectly for his reception into this house, in the hopes that he would favor this house with his custom. That lumpen, tickle-brained mumble-news that thou dost name thy brother did give the gentleman such a sauce that he left my house and has gone to the home of Signior Capulet!"

Valentine's throat swelled, and he burst into tears. "No, Father!" he cried. "The fault was not mine! The foreign gentleman did smile at me, Father."

Giacomo turned on him. "How now, thou mewling wretch? The fault is not thine? Wouldst thou lay the blame at thy lord father's feet?"

"I am sorry that I did not bow!" Valentine gasped.

"Now art thou sorry! Now dost thou come to me begging food! I shall show thee what it is to be sorry!" And Giacomo picked up Valentine's bowl and flung the pigswill full in Valentine's face.

In an instant, there was silence. The slimy, sour rot dripped over Valentine's clothes and dribbled down his neck, filling his nostrils with its stench, leaving him too stunned even to cry out. Giacomo sat down and resumed eating as if nothing had happened. Mercutio glanced from his brother to his father, a look of horrified indignation on his face. At last, he found his tongue.

"The fault was not Valentine's, Father. The Venetian merchant was surely no fool. He saw you for what you are, and he chose to take his business elsewhere."

Giacomo did not look up from his risotto. "That slime-drenched creature offends my nose," he said coolly. "Remove it from the table, Mercutio, and take thyself with it."

Mercutio sighed, and rose from the table without a glance at his uneaten supper. With gentle hands, he helped Valentine to stand, and put his arm around Valentine's shoulder, ignoring the pigswill that dripped onto his clothes. "Come with me, _ragazzo_ ," he said. "I will help thee to wash that filth from thy hair."

Valentine sniffled a little, but allowed himself to be led from the dining hall, safe for the moment in Mercutio's hands.


	2. Virtue Itself Turns Vice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **2\. Untalk'd Of And Unseen**

**2\. Untalk'd Of And Unseen**

* * *

Valentine tried his best to be brave, but his tears began to flow again as two chambermaids poured tepid water into a basin set on the floor of the chamber he shared with Mercutio. The chambermaids did not seem to notice or care, and Valentine was grateful for that small grace. When the basin was full, Mercutio sent the maids away, and helped Valentine take off his soaked, reeking clothes. He added his own doublet and shirt to the pile, and set it just outside the door. Valentine huddled next to the basin, paralyzed with weeping.

Mercutio returned, bare to the waist, and touched Valentine's shoulder. "Get thee into the water," he said. "The maids have left a little soap, and I will wash thy hair for thee."

So Valentine sat down in the shallow water and wept as Mercutio used the ewer that the maids had left to pour water over him. The water felt pleasant on his skin, but afterwards, he felt chilled. The touch of the water was soothing, and Valentine found that he was at last able to stop crying. Mercutio handed him a cloth and the dish of soft soap. "Wash thy face," he said. "I do not wish to rub soap into thy eyes."

Valentine scrubbed the pigswill out of his nose and ears and tried to enjoy the pleasant sensation of Mercutio washing his hair. They did not speak for the rest of Valentine's bath. When he was clean and dry, Mercutio helped him to put on his nightgown, then changed into his own nightclothes. Valentine went and sat on the bed while Mercutio summoned the maids to remove the basin and the damp towels.

Domenico entered along with the maids, and tucked both boys into their bed. He pulled the heavy curtains over the windows and left without saying a word.

At last, Mercutio and Valentine were alone, at least for a while. It was still far too early to be in bed, and Valentine could see the glow of sunset peeping through the curtains. He was not really very sleepy, but he also did not want to get up. The day had been long and hard, and he was glad of the chance to lie in bed with his brother next to him providing warmth and comfort.

"How dost thou fare?" Mercutio asked after a while.

"I am glad to be clean again," Valentine answered. "But the smell of the pigswill is still in my nose, and I am still hungry."

Mercutio sighed. "I should have thought to bring something from the table for thee. It is too late to go back now. Canst thou endure till morning? I will be able to find something for thee then."

"Ay. I can endure." There was no choice. None of the servants would look kindly on the boys if they were caught prowling around after they had been put to bed. Valentine would endure another hungry night, and Mercutio would as likely as not put himself in harm's way for a scrap of food for him. Valentine's stomach rumbled again, and he burrowed his face into his pillow in embarrassment.

"Shall I tell thee a story?" Mercutio asked. "I could tell thee of the adventures of Oberon, King of the Fairies, and his Queen, Titania. Perhaps that might turn thy mind from thy stomach."

Valentine considered the offer. Mercutio was a good storyteller. He could describe fairies and goblins so perfectly that anyone would have thought that they were real, and his stories always had exciting adventures in them. But Valentine did not want to hear a story tonight. He was too miserable and sore for fantastical creatures.

"No story," he said. "I would as well lie here with thee in peace, at least for a little while."

Mercutio nodded in the fading light, and pulled Valentine into his arms so that Valentine could curl up against him. He did not do that very often, and the gesture lifted Valentine's spirits a little.

"Do I still smell foul?" Valentine asked.

"No fouler than when thou didst play in the streets with Proteus, and he led thee on a wild-goose chase through the back yard of that tavern where thou didst run through the henhouse," Mercutio said, and Valentine smiled to remember that day. He had emerged from the henhouse with an egg, and Proteus had wondered if one could actually fry an egg on the street in the hot sunlight. They had broken the egg on the piazza to test it, but they had never gotten an answer. The Capulet gang, sworn enemies of Mercutio's friends, had charged through the piazza, and Tybalt had slipped on the cooking egg and fallen on his bottom.

Valentine giggled at the memory of Tybalt's face turning purple with rage and humiliation. Then he thought about that awful moment at the table, when he had sat dripping with pigswill, and suddenly, Tybalt's accident did not seem so funny any more.

Slowly, the sun set, and the bedchamber grew dark. Valentine shivered in Mercutio's arms, for he feared nightfall and the dreadful things that happened after dark. He hoped that their father would not hurt Mercutio enough to make him scream, for Mercutio's screams terrified Valentine so much that he could not sleep even after Mercutio returned to the bed. Mercutio seemed troubled by Valentine's shivering, and tightened his embrace.

"Go to sleep, _ragazzo_. Morning will come, and then thou wilt have food."

"Mercutio?" Valentine hesitated. "Dost thou think that Father will come in our chamber tonight?"

Mercutio gave a mirthless laugh. "Nay. He will not come in our chamber. He may come into our chamber, but he always comes in his own bed."

Valentine blushed at that filthy pun, and was glad that Mercutio could not see it in the dark. "Why dost thou jest about such things?" he asked. "They are too horrible for jesting."

"They are too horrible not to jest," Mercutio replied. "If I cannot laugh about it every once in a while, I will surely go mad. Now, go to sleep, and perhaps thou wilt not wake when Father comes in."

* * *

Exhausted and weakened by hunger and heat, Valentine must have managed to fall asleep despite his fear, for he was startled awake when the door to the bedchamber burst open. Giacomo stormed into the chamber, his heavy, dark robe billowing over his pale nightgown, and pulled the covers off of Mercutio. Mercutio sat up, trembling, and Valentine clutched at him. "No," he said, "do not go away."

"I must." Mercutio pushed Valentine away with gentle hands. "Go to sleep. I shall return to thee." He had no time to say any more, for Giacomo seized his arm and marched him out of the room.

Left alone in the great bed, Valentine curled into a ball and pulled the covers over his head. The night always seemed darker after Mercutio went away, and the shadows loomed over the bed and took on threatening shapes. Valentine wondered what would happen if their father came for him one day. Mercutio had promised him that that would not happen as long as he was alive to prevent it, but that was small reassurance. Valentine was sure that their father was quite capable of killing Mercutio, for, on one memorable occasion when Valentine was five, he had nearly managed to do that.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he imagined that the sound filled up the silence of the night. He wondered how badly their father would hurt Mercutio tonight. Most nights, Mercutio returned to bed sweaty and shaking, and would have only the marks on his wrists to show the next morning. But sometimes he would have a black eye or other injury, and sometimes he bled on the sheets.

The silence stretched out and wrapped around Valentine. Perhaps it would not be so bad tonight. Perhaps their father had vented the larger part of his considerable rage on Valentine and would deal more gently with Mercutio tonight. Valentine allowed himself a tiny smile at the thought that he might have deflected some punishment from his brother, as Mercutio had done for him for much of their lives. That would mean that Valentine was finally growing up and would be able to protect people just like Mercutio did. He allowed the fantasy to give him a small measure of comfort, and poked his head out from under the covers.

Mercutio had told him to go to sleep. Valentine began to think that that might be a good idea. He was so weary, after all. Perhaps if he held himself to a light doze, he would be aware when Mercutio returned, and would be able to comfort him.

The first scream shattered all of Valentine's fantasies of being a grown, powerful protector. Mercutio's cries echoed down the stone and plaster corridor, and Valentine's insides clenched in terror at the sound. For the first time, he was glad that he had not eaten, for there was nothing in his stomach to vomit up. He pushed down a wave of guilt and stuffed a corner of the bedsheet in his ears to dampen the sound of Mercutio's agony.

After what seemed like an eternity, the screaming stopped. Slowly, Valentine freed his head and tried to make his limbs stop shaking. Once the screams stopped, it was usually not long before Mercutio would return to bed. He would likely not allow Valentine to cuddle up against him, but he might permit Valentine to hold his hand. That would be just enough comfort so that both boys could sleep for the remainder of the night. Valentine wiggled over to his side of the bed and then turned the covers down on Mercutio's side. Then he burrowed down into his pillow and waited.

Nothing happened. Silence fell again over the house, and Mercutio did not return. Valentine waited patiently, but as the minutes stretched out, a knot of fresh worry began to grow inside him. Mercutio always returned; it was unthinkable that he would not do so. It seemed to Valentine that strange monsters were lurking in the dark corners of the bedchamber, horrible creatures like the ones that sometimes appeared in the stories that Mercutio told. But those monsters were only imaginary, and even if they were not, Mercutio always told the story so that the monsters either turned out to be friendly or were defeated by a brave soul in the end. There was no one to protect Valentine from the monsters in the house now.

Just as he was about to start crying from terror and loneliness, Valentine heard footsteps outside the door. They were not Giacomo's heavy tread, nor Domenico's long strides, but the soft, halting steps of bare feet that were not yet very big. To Valentine's immense relief, the door opened, and Mercutio limped into the room. Valentine sat up in bed and held his arms out to his brother.

"Oh, Mercutio, thou art returned at last!" he cried. "I feared that thou wouldst not return to me, I feared that thou wast dead."

"I am not dead," Mercutio said, his voice tight and strained, "though there were times tonight when I feared that – well, never mind. Where is a fresh shirt?" Mercutio sank down to the ground, taking care to kneel rather than sit, and began to pull on hose beneath his nightgown. Then he groped his way over to the clothes chest and pulled out a shirt and a doublet.

Valentine listened to the rustling of Mercutio dressing himself with some trepidation and no little interest. Mercutio had never done that before, and Valentine hoped that he had not been cast out of the house suddenly. But that did not seem to be the case, for, when Mercutio had dressed himself, he moved to the bed and pulled the covers off of Valentine.

"Rise, _ragazzo_ , and dress thyself," he said. "I have found clothes for thee. Be quick and silent about it." He tugged at Valentine's arms and drew him from his nest.

"Why?" Valentine asked, even as he slid down from the bed and Mercutio shoved hose and a shirt into his hands. "Why must we wear our clothes in the middle of the night?"

Mercutio was silent for a moment. "Valentine, dost thou remember what I have told thee all these years, that I would protect thee, that Father would never come for thee in the night?"

"Ay." Valentine tied the strings of his hose and removed his nightgown.

"Well, it has come to this. I can no longer protect thee on my own. That grace has run out, and Father will come for thee soon."

Valentine sucked in a horrified gasp, and his hands fell limp at his sides. Mercutio tied the laces of his shirt and put a doublet into his hands.

"That is why we are leaving tonight. Father sleeps, and I hope that Queen Mab brings him pleasant dreams so that he will not wake. Thou and I must be clever and silent, and leave this house so that I may find some place of refuge for thee." He picked up their shoes, took Valentine's hand, and crept towards the door.

"Wait," Valentine whispered. Mercutio paused, and Valentine scurried back into the bedchamber to retrieve a toy soldier that he had loved ever since he was a baby and had chewed it until its face was nothing but a blur. If he was to be left alone at some strange place, he wanted at least one familiar thing with him. When he had retrieved the soldier, he returned to Mercutio's side, and the two boys stepped silently out into the corridor.

There was a little moonlight, enough so that they could see to navigate through the house. Mercutio kept them in the shadows so that the servants would not see them. Once, they had to flatten themselves against a wall and hold their breath as two of the night maids swept by, but they were not discovered. Soon, they were in the great entrance hall, and Mercutio turned the handle of the door slowly so that it would not creak. They ran across the entrance yard, and Mercutio managed to lift the heavy bar over the gate by himself. The boys slipped through the gate, and were in the street at last.

Once they were in the street, Mercutio and Valentine put on their shoes and looked around. At this hour of the night, the street was quiet and empty, and it looked much bigger than it did in the daytime. Valentine huddled close to Mercutio.

"Will we run now?" he asked.

Mercutio shook his head. "I cannot run. It pains me even to walk. But walk we must. Come on, _ragazzo_."

Slowly, they set off down the street. Mercutio's footsteps were uneven, and his breath hitched sometimes. Valentine wondered exactly what their father had done to him this time, but did not ask. He clutched his toy soldier and followed Mercutio through the streets and alleys without saying a word. It was only when Mercutio paused to lean against a wall and gasp for breath that Valentine dared to speak.

"Mercutio," he asked, "where are we going?"

"I know not," Mercutio admitted. "I did not think beyond getting thee out of the house. I have been trying to discover some place where I could be assured of thy safety. I thought briefly of taking thee to the house of Benvolio and Romeo, but thou wouldst not be safe there. Father would discover thee soon enough, and he would carry thee home again."

"Oh." That was a disappointment. Valentine liked Benvolio and Romeo. They were big boys, Mercutio's best friends, but they would also play with Valentine sometimes, if he asked nicely, and they always seemed to enjoy doing so.

Mercutio seized his hand. "I have thought of the very place," he said. "It is not precisely close by, so thou wilt have to help me walk there. But I think that thou wilt be safe."

"Where is it? Are we going to the abbey?" Valentine had heard about how the Franciscan brothers would sometimes offer shelter to travelers in need. He and Mercutio were not exactly travelers, but Valentine thought they were in need.

"Nay, not the abbey. I do not trust the friars." Mercutio began to limp down the street again, and Valentine marched at his side. "We are going to the palace. If Uncle will have thee, then there is nothing that Father can do to prevent that, for there is no one in Verona more powerful than the Prince."

Valentine's eyes grew wide in the darkness. He did not like the idea of disturbing his tall, stern uncle, and he wondered if he and Mercutio might be thrown in prison for their pains. But at least they would be safe from their father in the prison, and they might even be allowed to share a cell.

Mercutio stumbled, and Valentine put an arm around his waist. He was not very big, but neither was Mercutio. Together, they could make it to the palace, and together they would endure whatever might come next.


	3. Infold Me From The Search Of Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **3\. Infold Me From The Search Of Eyes**

**3\. Infold Me From The Search Of Eyes**

* * *

The royal palace of Verona was not prohibitively far away from the house of Rinuccini, but it was far enough to be a difficult and arduous walk for two injured and weakened boys. Mercutio staggered grimly forward, leaning half on walls and half on Valentine for support. Valentine did his best to support his brother, and prayed with all his might that Mercutio would not collapse in the street before they made it to the palace, for he was not big enough to carry Mercutio, and he did not know the way to the palace on his own. He nearly burst into tears when he realized that they would have to cross the piazza, but Mercutio forced a smile.

"Have courage, _ragazzo_ ," he said. "The palace is not far from the piazza. After we have crossed it, we will be nearly there."

The piazza was cold and empty. It was the place where boys gathered to play, and where markets were held. Valentine wished that there were a market so that he could beg Mercutio to buy him something to eat, but there was none. He set his jaw and walked forward, bearing up under Mercutio's slight weight. The crossing was alarming, for Valentine and Mercutio had no one but each other for support, but at last it was over. Mercutio allowed a few moments' rest in the arcade at the far end of the piazza.

"It is only a few more blocks," he murmured. "Then thou shalt be safe." With those words, he pushed himself away from the wall and moved forward.

Valentine nearly cried with relief when they passed beneath an archway and found themselves in an enclosed courtyard. The focal point of the courtyard was a grand flight of stone steps leading up to the wrought bronze doors of the palace. Several guards in short capes, metal breastplates and plumed helmets stood by the doors, and torches burned in great metal sconces. Mercutio and Valentine walked to the bottom of the steps and stopped. One of the guards descended to meet them. Valentine, habitually wary of strange adult men, tried to hide behind Mercutio. The guard surveyed the boys, a concerned, bewildered expression on his face.

"You are the sons of Signior Giacomo Rinuccini, are you not?" he asked. "Why have you come here, all alone, in the dead of night?"

Mercutio swallowed, but did not answer immediately. Valentine's imagination filled with images of slimy, rat-infested prison cells, and he had to choke back tears once more. The guard's expression immediately softened.

"Do not cry, child," he said. "Has something happened to thee? Or has some disaster befallen thy house?"

Mercutio found his voice at last. "We have fled our house," he told the guard. "There is a horror there worse than a thousand Satans. I beg you to rouse up the Prince and tell him that the sons of Rinuccini have come to beg him for asylum."

Valentine stared at Mercutio in grateful astonishment. He had not thought that Mercutio would go so far as to invoke so impressive a word against their father. Evidently, the guard had not thought so, either, for he blinked in surprise. Mercutio did not budge.

"I am fourteen years old," he said, "and that is old enough to speak on my own behalf in this matter. I would ask the Prince's asylum for my brother."

"I believe you," the guard said. He turned to his comrades at the top of the steps and indicated with a gesture that one of them should go inside the palace to alert those within. Then he turned back to the boys. "I am Bartolomeo Senzi," he told them. "I am only a simple man, but I can see that something dire has happened, or else you would not have come here, unguarded, in the night. Come. I will take you inside, and we will see what may be done in your case."

Bartolomeo held out his hand. Mercutio gave Valentine a nudge, and Valentine moved to follow Bartolomeo, but did not take his hand. Mercutio tried to mount the stairs after them, but fell back with a hiss of pain. Valentine paused and looked back at his brother. Mercutio had turned away to compose himself, and in the torchlight, Valentine saw that the seat of his hose was stained with blood. Bartolomeo turned around and gave Mercutio a critical glance.

"You have been hurt," he said.

"It pains me to walk," Mercutio admitted, through gritted teeth. Bartolomeo took a step towards Mercutio, and Mercutio flinched away from him. Bartolomeo glanced from Mercutio to Valentine, and gave a great sigh. Then he turned back to Mercutio.

"You have done well to bring your brother here under such conditions," he said. "It is as much as I would ask any of the soldiers under my command. Will you permit me to bear you from the field of battle with honor?"

Mercutio considered the offer for a long moment. Then, to Valentine's astonishment, he nodded. Mercutio, who normally despised being held, allowed Bartolomeo to pick him up and carry him up the steps and into the palace. Valentine followed, holding on to the hem of Bartolomeo's short cape. The door shut behind them, but Valentine could not decide whether the clang signaled their safety or their imprisonment.

* * *

The guard who had been sent inside to rouse the Prince met them in the corridor and showed them to a receiving chamber. Mercutio, who had rested quietly in Bartolomeo's arms, began to struggle, and Bartolomeo set him on his feet. In the torchlight that filled the room, Valentine could see just how pale his brother was. He hoped that Mercutio would not faint and leave him alone with all of the strangers. Desperate for some comfort, he slipped his hand into Mercutio's and was rewarded with a squeeze and a little smile.

"Do not fear, Valentine," Mercutio said. "I shall explain everything, and Uncle will not grudge thee safety."

"What of thee?" Valentine asked. "I would not be parted from thee."

"I do not know. I will do my best."

Mercutio had no time to say any more, for the door to the receiving chamber opened. But instead of Prince Escalus, their cousin Paris entered, flanked by two pages. Paris was still wearing his nightgown and robe, and his hair was mussed from sleep. He took one look at his cousins, and flew to their side.

"You look dreadful," he said. "What has happened? Lorenzo woke me from a sound sleep and said that I was needed down here immediately."

Before Mercutio could reply, a harsh sob escaped Valentine's lips. He was horribly ashamed, and could not stop a second sob, but succeeded in choking back a third. Paris did not seem to mind, however, and put his hand on Valentine's shoulder. Valentine did not like being touched by adults, but he liked his cousin Paris, and anyway, Paris was only nineteen years old, and that was not really an adult. Valentine wrapped his arms around Paris, and Paris returned the embrace.

"Oh, Valentine, little cousin," Paris said. "What has happened to make thee so distressed?"

It was hard for Valentine to speak, because he feared that he might start crying if he opened his mouth. "Father," he gasped. "And – and I am hungry, and Mercutio . . . and, and . . ." It was too late. Valentine began to cry in earnest.

Paris asked him no further questions, but drew him away to a bench at the side of the receiving chamber. They sat down together, and Paris let Valentine cry against his shoulder. Through his tears, Valentine saw Mercutio standing with Bartolomeo at his side, a worried look on his face.

Valentine was dimly aware when the Prince entered the receiving chamber and sat down at his desk. Escalus was fully dressed, but Valentine could not tell whether he was angry or not. He spoke to Mercutio in a stern voice, and Mercutio answered him calmly. The Prince allowed Mercutio to speak for what seemed like a very long time. Valentine had managed to stop crying, but he was exhausted, and found it difficult to follow the conversation. He leaned against Paris and blinked to keep himself from falling asleep.

He heard his name and roused slightly. Mercutio was talking to the Prince about him. After a few moments, Valentine realized that Mercutio was telling the Prince about how their father had tried to feed Valentine pigswill and had thrown it in his face. The Prince glanced at Valentine, and there was a glint of anger in his eyes. Valentine shrank down against Paris. He did not want the Prince to know what a naughty boy he had been, and part of him wished that Mercutio had not spoken of that incident. He buried his face in Paris's shoulder and tried to shut out the world around him.

"He has done what to thee?" The Prince's outraged shout startled Valentine back into awareness. The Prince rose to his feet and strode around the desk to stand before Mercutio. In one swift motion, he seized Mercutio by the shoulders and turned him around. Two spots of bright red flamed in Mercutio's hollow cheeks, and he shivered at the Prince's touch. The Prince stared at the seat of Mercutio's hose for a long moment, and when he looked up, his face was terrible to behold. He turned to Bartolomeo.

"Rouse up the Watch, soldier, and bring my sister's husband to me. Roust him from his bed if you must, but bring him before me."

"Ay, my lord." Bartolomeo saluted and marched out of the receiving chamber. Mercutio's shivering grew stronger, and his knees buckled. The Prince beckoned to the pages. One of them scooped Mercutio up, and Mercutio was shivering so hard that he did not even try to fight. His head lolled against the page's shoulder, and Valentine tried to swallow the knot of worry that formed at the back of his throat. The Prince ordered the second page to summon the royal physician, then came to stand before Paris and Valentine.

"Take this one to the third chamber in the family wing," he told Paris.

"Ay, my lord." Paris stood up, and Valentine stood with him. He followed Paris out of the receiving chamber and through the great doors that led to the private wing of the palace. Ordinarily, Valentine would have been excited, as he had never been allowed past those doors before, but he was tired, and his stomach hurt, and he was worried about Mercutio.

"I am hungry," he murmured, unable to say anything else coherently.

"Then we must find thee something to eat," Paris said. "It will not be much, for supper is done, but perhaps there is a little bread in the kitchen that thou couldst eat." He stopped a maid and spoke briefly to her. She hurried off, and Paris nudged Valentine. "Come, up these stairs, and we will find thee a warm bed for the rest of the night."

"What of the bread?" Valentine asked, too tired and hungry to care about his manners.

"The servants will bring it to thee in thy bedchamber," Paris said. "I know it is not proper to eat in a bedchamber, but this is an extraordinary occasion, and Uncle will not mind it."

If Paris said it, then it was probably true. Valentine followed him up the stairs and into a guest suite, furnished simply, but with everything one might need. He and Paris sat down at a little table, and Paris scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Did thy father really do everything that Mercutio accused him of doing?" he asked.

Valentine scowled. "Mercutio is no liar. He tells stories, but he does not lie."

"Of course. I did not mean to doubt his words. But neither did I suspect that thy father could commit such evil. It is a new thought for me."

That mollified Valentine, but only a little. "My father is a clever man, and he does things where no one will see. I think he made Mercutio swear to keep his secrets, but I was little then, and I am not certain that I remember correctly. I hope no one will call Mercutio an oath-breaker now that he has told."

"Nay, of course they will not." Paris tried to smile at Valentine. "There are some oaths that should always be kept, but such oaths as Mercutio was made to swear are not among them."

"Good." Valentine let out a little sigh of relief. Before he could say any more, the door opened, and two servants entered. One carried a folded nightgown and put it on the bed, and the other bore a tray, a bottle, and two cups, which he set down on the table. On the tray was a plate with a few slices of white bread drizzled with olive oil on it. Paris took the bottle and poured wine into the two cups. Then he nodded to the servant, who poured water into one cup of wine and stirred it. Paris put that cup in front of Valentine.

"There is food and drink," he said. "After thou hast eaten, thou mayst go to bed, for I am sure that thou art exhausted."

Even as he spoke, Valentine let out an enormous yawn. The servant smiled indulgently at him, and Valentine did not feel so bad about his lack of manners. He picked up the bread, and the first bite tasted so good that he almost cried again. The bread was sweet, light, and fresh, and the olive oil was rich and flavorful on his tongue. Paris watched him eat, smiling and sipping his own wine.

"How long has it been since thou didst last have a meal?" he asked.

Valentine paused and gave that question some thought. "It was noon, the day before yesterday," he said at last. Father would not let us eat supper with him, and then he did not allow me to have dinner the next day, and he threw pigswill at me at supper." Paris's smile vanished, and he shook his head sadly.

After Valentine had eaten all his bread and drunk his diluted wine, he was so sleepy that he could barely keep his eyes open. Paris summoned the servants to remove the dishes, and a valet helped Valentine undress and put on the nightgown, which was far too big for him. Then he boosted Valentine into the large bed and pulled the covers over him. Just as the servants and Paris were about to leave, Valentine sat up. "Wait!" he called.

Paris took a candle and motioned for the servants to wait just outside the door, then came to sit down on the bed next to Valentine. "What is it, little cousin?"

"I am afraid."

"What dost thou fear?"

Valentine had many worries, but he could only think of words for three of them. "What has become of Mercutio?"

"Uncle has put him in a bed just as lovely as this one, and has summoned a physician to look after him. He was wounded, I think, and I believe that he is falling ill from it."

This was less than comforting, but at least Mercutio was still in the palace. That thought reminded Valentine of his second worry. "How long will we stay here? Will Uncle grant us what Mercutio asked for? As . . . Asy . . . I cannot remember the word."

Paris smiled. "Asylum. And if the look on Uncle's face was any indication of his feelings on the matter, I would wager that thou and Mercutio will remain here permanently. Asylum should be the least of thy cares now. Dost thou think that thou canst sleep a little?"

Valentine lay down, but there was one more worry in his heart. "I am afraid to sleep alone without Mercutio to take care of me," he admitted, in a very small voice. "I do not want anyone coming in to hurt me in the night."

Paris's jaw hardened, and for a moment, Valentine feared that he had made his cousin angry. Without a word, Paris rose and went to speak to the servants, then returned to the bed.

"I have spoken with Lorenzo," he told Valentine. "He is my valet, the one who helped to put thee to bed. He will keep watch outside the door tonight, and he will let none enter who do not love thee. I swear to thee that thou art safe here. None shall harm thee."

Paris looked so serious as he spoke that Valentine could not help but believe him. He wanted to say more, but he was too sleepy, so he nodded. Paris seemed to understand everything he meant to say, though, for he smiled, pulled the covers up to Valentine's chin, and left quietly, bringing the candle with him. Utterly worn out, Valentine dropped off to sleep.


	4. Night's Candles Are Burnt Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **4\. Night's Candles Are Burnt Out**

**4\. Night's Candles Are Burnt Out**

* * *

When Valentine finally woke, the sun was shining brightly through the window. He was alone in the large bed into which Paris and Lorenzo had tucked him. In his father's house, Domenico would have woken both Valentine and Mercutio at sunrise, but at the palace, it seemed that one was allowed to sleep a little later in the morning. Since it seemed that nobody had immediate need of him, Valentine took advantage of the opportunity to curl up beneath the covers and contemplate his new situation.

He did not recall everything that had happened last night, and he did not quite understand everything that he did remember, but he guessed that he and Mercutio would not be going home to face their father's wrath for some time. That suited Valentine perfectly, although he did hope that Paris would come with them when they went home, even for a few hours, to explain to Giacomo why they had left and convince him not to punish them. The thought of punishment inspired him to add a wish that they would be allowed to stay through dinner, so that he might have a full meal before going home to face his father.

Then Valentine decided that this was important enough to make into a prayer rather than just a wish. He slid out of bed, got down on his knees and crossed himself. "Dear Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint Valentine," he said, "I pray that my brother Mercutio and I might be allowed to remain in the house of our uncle for a little while, or at least until dinner. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, amen."

Valentine had just finished his prayer when he heard a knock on the door. He tried to leap to his feet, but he became tangled in the overlarge nightgown and ended up sitting on his bottom on the floor. "Enter," he called.

The door opened, and Lorenzo, Paris's valet from last night, entered the room bearing a large bundle. He set the bundle down on a chest and smiled at Valentine. He was older than Valentine had thought, at least forty years old, and he had a friendly smile. "So you are awake, little master," he said. "That is good. I have brought your clothes, which were delivered here just before dawn by the Watch."

Valentine stared at the bundle in puzzlement. The bundle was so big that it must contain all of his clothes, not just what he might need for a few days. He was grateful for something fresh to wear, but he wondered why the Watch had gone to his father's house and why they had searched for his clothes in particular. Lorenzo opened the bundle and nodded to Valentine.

"Come, little master. Choose your raiment for the day. I will arrange your bedclothes and brush your hair, and then your noble cousin wishes to speak with you."

Slowly, Valentine stood up, managing not to fall down this time. He gathered up the trailing hem of the nightgown and went to investigate the bundle of clothes. While Lorenzo straightened the covers on the bed and set Valentine's toy soldier on the windowsill, Valentine selected a shirt, a doublet, and a set of hose. Lorenzo poured water from a small jug into a basin, and Valentine washed his face and hands. Then he changed into the clothes he selected, and decided that he trusted Lorenzo enough to let the valet help him with the laces on his sleeves. Finally, Lorenzo combed Valentine's hair so that it looked neat and tidy.

"You are as handsome as you are noble," he said when he had finished. Valentine looked into the hand glass at his thin, solemn face set with sleepy blue eyes, one of them blackened from Giacomo's punishment the day before, and crowned with wavy blond hair, and could not decide what he thought of Lorenzo's words. So he said nothing, but followed Lorenzo out of the bedchamber.

Lorenzo led Valentine down a corridor, down another flight of stairs, and through a hall. He stopped and knocked at a large, heavy door. After a moment, a muffled voice bade them enter. Lorenzo pushed the door open and ushered Valentine into a small, tastefully furnished study. There were shelves of books on the wall, and an intricately inlaid wooden cabinet that bore a bowl of tempting fruit and an odd device made of interlocking circles of brass. Valentine would have loved to explore the room, but he could not. Paris sat at a large desk and beckoned him to come closer.

Valentine edged a little closer to the desk, but was careful not to stand too close. Paris smiled, but there was something sad about it.

"I see thou hast learned wariness in thy short years," he sighed. "I hope that we may be able to train some of that out of thee. But it is good to see thee awake. Thy visage is much improved for a little food and rest, though thy black eye is not at all becoming to thee. We must see that thou dost not acquire any more. I am charged with welcoming thee, since Uncle is busy. I wager that we will not see him today. I know not precisely what to tell thee, so I will place that burden on thy shoulders. Is there aught that thou wouldst ask of me, Valentine?"

"Where is Mercutio?" Valentine asked immediately. "Uncle did not send him home, did he? Father will be furious."

Paris sighed. "Mercutio is still here, Valentine. Thou needst not fear that Uncle or I would ever separate thee from him. But the matter is not entirely in our hands. Mercutio is quite ill. I cannot say whether or not he will survive."

Valentine's insides wobbled, but he managed not to shiver on the outside. "Might I be allowed to see him?"

"Nay, not immediately." At Valentine's look of horror, Paris elaborated. "Mercutio has a high fever, Valentine, and he wanders deep in dreams. He would not know thee if thou didst visit him."

"Might I stay in the palace until he is well, or until he dies?" Valentine asked.

Paris laughed out loud at that. "Valentine, dost thou know the meaning of asylum?" Valentine shook his head in shame. "It means the personal protection of a lord, who protects the weak from imminent harm. In thy case and in Mercutio's case, Uncle has granted both of you permanent asylum from the danger of living with your father. You will live here with Uncle and with me from now on. Didst thou not notice that thy clothes were brought here?"

"I did. But what if we meet Father on the street? What if he were to snatch us up and carry us home with him?"

"He will never do that." Paris's voice was stern, and Valentine wondered briefly if he had angered his cousin with his question. "Uncle has banished him from Verona. That means that he may never set foot in this city as long as he lives. He left for Mantua before the sun rose this morning. Thou and Mercutio may roam anywhere in the city and be safe from him."

At that, Valentine fell utterly silent. He had not imagined that Mercutio could make a request with such drastic consequences. It took him a moment to think of the implications. "I will never see Father again?"

"Never. Not unless thou dost seek him out. But he will not come to thee, nor to Mercutio."

"He will never strike us again, nor tell me that I am a puling fool who is a disgrace to the name of Rinuccini, and he will not make Mercutio scream in the night?"

By the door, Lorenzo made a sad "tsk" sound. Paris winced, but regained his composure quickly. "Nay, Valentine. Thy father will never hurt thee or Mercutio again."

This was so overwhelming that Valentine began to shake. His knees gave way, and he sat down hard on the polished wooden floor. Paris and Lorenzo hurried to his side. Valentine was still not sure what he thought of Lorenzo, so he turned to Paris. And, incredibly, Paris ceased to be the stern young lord informing a child of its fate, and became the gentle older cousin he had been last night. He gathered Valentine into his arms and allowed Valentine to cling to him and shiver and tremble for a long time.

* * *

Once Valentine had regained control of his body, Paris offered to show him around the palace. Valentine accepted the offer eagerly, secretly glad that Paris had not sent him away. Though he was glad that he would not have to face his father's fury again, the palace was still a strange and overwhelming place, and Valentine could not see it as his home just yet. Paris showed him libraries, studies, antechambers, greater and lesser halls, and music rooms, then took him through the courtyards and gardens. Valentine clung to Paris's hand, comprehending and not comprehending at the same time.

"Where is my chamber?" he asked, as they stood in the main garden courtyard.

Paris pointed to one particular window. "That is the window across from thy bed."

Sure enough, Valentine could dimly see his toy soldier looking down at him from the window. The sight of the familiar toy made him smile a little. "Where is Mercutio's chamber?"

Paris indicated a window not far away, at the corner of the yard, with a balcony attached to it. "Mercutio sleeps in that chamber."

Valentine sighed. "I wish that I might see my brother. I know not what to do without him."

"Not while he is so ill, Valentine. Uncle's physician keeps watch over him, and thou wouldst do nothing save be underfoot. Perhaps we should do something else to occupy thy mind. Uncle will hire a tutor when he can, but I doubt that he will be able to do so today. Shall I give thee lessons instead?"

Valentine did not think that he could concentrate on anything until he knew for certain that Mercutio would recover, but he knew that he ought to agree to lessons, for that was a privilege and his duty as the son of a nobleman. He raised his eyes to meet Paris's, but Paris shook his head before Valentine could speak.

"Nay, I withdraw the suggestion. Thy wounds are still too fresh. Thou wilt learn naught today, no matter how hard I try to teach thee. Shall I take thee into town, to the church, perhaps?"

Valentine shook his head. "Nay. I thank thee, cousin, but I would as well remain within today." He twisted his toe in the dust, and added in a very small voice, "I would not be absent from the palace if Mercutio should die."

"I understand."

And Valentine thought that Paris really did understand. He wrapped an arm around Paris's waist, and the two of them returned indoors.

* * *

Although Valentine did not want to leave the palace, the idea of going to the church had appealed to him. Paris showed him a small chapel within the palace, where the Prince heard Mass in the mornings. The chapel was small and dimly lit, with only a few flickering candles, whose light made the rich ornaments glow. Valentine liked the place immediately, and Paris smiled.

"I shall leave thee alone with thy prayer for a little while," he said. "I have a little business to attend, and then I will come and fetch thee for dinner."

Valentine agreed to this, especially to the promise of dinner, and Paris left the chapel, closing the door behind him. Once he had left, Valentine knelt before the altar, but found that he could not make the words of prayer come out of his mouth. He remembered having been told in confession that God could see the smallest thoughts in his heart, and decided that that would have to do. So he knelt silently and thought about Mercutio, hoping that God would see his sorrow and worry and allow him to keep his brother, at least for a little while longer.

After a while, the darkness and silence of the chapel began to remind Valentine of the long nights in his father's house, and he began to itch under his skin. Hoping that God would not be offended, he crossed himself and said a quick "Amen," and then left the chapel.

No one was in sight. Valentine was still a little nervous and did not want to be alone any more, but he did not know where or how to find Paris. He decided to return to his new chamber instead. His toy soldier was there, and that would at least be something familiar. He found the chamber with only two false starts, and was pleased to see the soldier still sitting on the windowsill, the remains of his chewed face as welcoming as ever. Already, the chamber was beginning to feel different, as though it were a place where Valentine could really live.

Then an idea struck him. He looked out into the courtyard and recalled how Paris had pointed his window out. Paris had also pointed out the window of the chamber where Mercutio lay. Valentine screwed up his nose and imagined himself down in the courtyard again, looking up at the windows. He remembered which way Paris had pointed, and how many windows had separated Mercutio's chamber from his, and thought carefully about directions. Then, before the image could evaporate from his mind, Valentine ran out into the corridor and glanced in what he thought was the right direction.

A door at the end of the corridor opened, and an old man in a black cap and robe shuffled out. He bore a small, oddly-shaped glass jar, and mumbled strange words to himself. Valentine thought that he must be the physician, and decided to try that chamber. Quickly, before the old man could return, he hurried to the other chamber, and carefully pushed the door open.

The room was dim, for the curtains had been pulled over the windows, and a few candles burned. Valentine could not see much of what the place looked like, but he saw the one important thing in the place. Mercutio lay on one side of a great bed, and moved a little as Valentine watched. Valentine could not tell whether his brother was awake or asleep, but he could see that Mercutio lived. Overjoyed, he crept close to the bed.

As he approached, he could see that Mercutio's face was shiny with sweat, and there were great rings beneath his eyes. At the sound of soft footsteps, Mercutio blinked, and then smiled weakly at Valentine. He made a limp gesture with one hand, and Valentine immediately picked it up and held it.

"Oh, Mercutio," he said, and then his throat closed, and he could say no more.

"Do not cry, _ragazzo_ ," Mercutio murmured. "We have done it. We have escaped Father's clutches, and we are safe at last."

"Thou hast done it," Valentine replied. "Our escape was thy doing. Thou didst take me from our bed, thou didst lead us from Father's house here, and thou didst plead our case before Uncle."

"And had I not had thee to care for, I would never have dared set foot beyond the door at all, much less been able to drag myself here," Mercutio said. "Do not lower thy own value, Valentine."

"Paris has said that thou art very ill. Thou wilt not die?"

Mercutio took a deep, ragged breath. "I can make thee no promises, _ragazzo_. But I shall endeavor to live, as it is clear that there is one person in the world who still has need of me. . . " Mercutio's soft voice trailed off. His head lolled on the pillow, and he was asleep again.

Now that he had seen Mercutio and spoken with him, Valentine's heart was lighter than it had been all day. He pulled the covers up to Mercutio's chin, and kissed his burning cheek. When he turned to leave, he saw the physician and Paris watching him from the doorway. In an instant, his heart shriveled up into a cold knot. He had disobeyed, and he knew that he deserved to be punished. He hoped that it would not be as severe as Father's punishments.

But the physician smiled at him, then turned to Paris. "What did I tell you, my lord?" he said. "There is a strong and natural affection between the older brother and the younger brother, and it is to be expected that the younger would be found here. Now they have laid eyes on each other, and perhaps the child will be calm."

Paris looked at Valentine with an expression that was part annoyance and part amusement. Valentine immediately came to stand before Paris, and put his heels together and his hands behind his back. "I disobeyed thy commands, cousin, and I am sorry for that," he choked out.

To his astonishment, Paris looked first at the physician and then at him, and then laughed. "Well, I do not mind that. I am glad that thou hast found a little peace today. Now, if thou wilt give me a smile, I shall take thee along to dinner."

At the mention of dinner, Valentine grinned hugely. "Oh, ay, I would like that very much!"

The physician nodded, and shooed Paris and Valentine out of Mercutio's chamber. Paris put a companionable arm around Valentine's shoulders and led him away to eat his first dinner in his new home.

* * *

END

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. I have to admit, I wasn't totally sure at first that it would work, but I think, in the end, that it does. For my purposes, at least, I think I managed to find the right balance between on-stage abuse, off-stage abuse, and the really interesting part of the story, how the boys engineered an escape attempt that was not without a certain risk.
> 
> And they're safe. At least, for now. And for a given value of "safe." But they've got each other, and they're away from their father. That's enough to work with.


End file.
